


Spill

by thingswithwings



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Control, Episode Tag, Intimacy, M/M, Patrick Brewer: Service Top, Post-Episode S06E02 "The Incident", Watersports, the themes of the episode taken to their logical and inevitable conclusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22305202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: “Can I tell you something else embarrassing?”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 140
Kudos: 417





	Spill

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to samwhambam for looking this over and offering many helpful suggestions!
> 
> This fic completely ignores the likely fallout of the text from Ronnie the next day. The show's probably gonna ignore it so I get to ignore it too, so there.
> 
> Canadian-to-other-Englishes Translation: For many Canadians, "I don't mind it/I didn't mind it," in some contexts and with the right intonation, means "I quite liked it." If that helps.

Patrick acts like he’s going to blow David with the mouthguard on, which makes David laugh so hard he ends up flushed and wheezing with his hands pressed over his face, but he actually doesn’t; he takes it out, flashes a shy, boyish grin, says “it’s too expensive to wreck with your cock, David,” and only _then_ does he start to suck dick. David lets the fading bubbles of his laughter transmute into gasps, lets the release and joy carry him right into mounting pleasure as he starts to harden and fill Patrick’s wet, hot mouth.

After, when Patrick’s wiping the back of his mouth with his arm in that uncouth but completely gorgeous way that he has, David feels the giggles return, a gentle little cascade through his body. 

“Well. Thank you for your help in my dehydration program,” he murmurs, and Patrick laughs, loud and full-throated. Or. Well. A little croaky, if David does say so himself.

“You really should drink something,” Patrick says, climbing back up to David and kissing his mouth eagerly. “You’ve got to be thirsty by now.”

“Mmm,” David smiles, picking up his cue. “Got any suggestions?”

“I’ve told you before that it’s not practical to try to live on a come-only diet,” Patrick protests, but David is already over his thighs, fingertips just teasing the hair there, not quite touching, making the skin shiver. 

“No, you said I should drink _something_. It’s hardly my fault if you weren’t specific.”

Patrick pets his head softly as David gets his mouth around his cock, accepting this, accepting him, like he always does. But the truth of it is that David’s mouth _is_ pretty sticky from dehydration, and after a second he pulls off with a grimace, grabs Patrick’s glass of water from the nightstand, and takes a deep drink, quenching the need he’s carried with him all day.

“_There_ you go. Good boy.”

He says it in his normal tone of voice, but the words have the same effect on David that they always do, making him ache happily somewhere deep inside. Patrick’s eyes are dark, amused. 

David grins at him, lips wet. “Didn’t know we were doing a scene tonight.”

“Didn’t know you were gonna be so good for me,” Patrick shoots back. 

The words allow the muscles of David’s heart to slowly begin to untwist. 

They don’t do a scene, not really; David just sucks Patrick greedily while Patrick strokes his hair and tells him he’s good, over and over, until the word takes up residence inside him. It’s what he needs, just then, that feeling of being right, of doing what he should, of Patrick seeing him and loving him.

David gets up to pee at the very last moment before they go to sleep, hoping that will prevent a repeat of the night before. When he comes back to bed, Patrick rubs his shoulder. 

“It’s okay if it happens again, you know,” he says.

“It’s really not,” David replies.

“It really is,” Patrick argues, but he’s yawning, so David lets him have the last word.

Once they’re settling in to sleep and the lamp is turned off, Patrick sighs happily with his head against David’s chest. David almost can’t believe it’s happening, that someone could know this terrible deep truth about him and still want to sleep all over him, still want to be this close. He’s been practicing, though, for years now, and he finds that when he tries he can believe it. He can believe that Patrick could love him this much, and this unconditionally.

He thought he’d have trouble getting to sleep tonight, but now that he’s here and warm with Patrick wrapped around him, his eyes are closing easily. He’s just drifting off, suffused with that content feeling, when Patrick speaks again. 

“Can I tell you something else embarrassing?” 

David’s eyes snap open, because it’s not Patrick’s slow, syrup-thick near-unconscious voice, the one he sometimes uses to narrate the nonsensical beginnings of his dreams to David right before his body relaxes into proper sleep. It’s his awake-and-anxious voice, the one that David only hears when Patrick is comfortable enough to tell him about a worry he has for the store or the wedding or that one cousin of his who makes extremely regrettable choices. It’s the voice Patrick uses in the dark when he’s ready to stop holding something back.

David swallows, and when he speaks his voice is as soft and accepting as he can make it. 

“Of course.”

In the silence, a crowd of fluttering concerns flit through his mind like moths, but he gives them a firm mental wave to shoo them away and waits for Patrick to actually say the thing he’s thinking before he starts freaking out.

“I’ve thought about it. Before. And I―I mean, there are videos, you know, porn, and I didn’t mind . . . that.”

David blinks into the darkness as he tries to put the words together into a coherent order. “Sorry. You’ve thought about what?”

Patrick’s head is still resting on David’s chest, Patrick’s voice still quiet as he speaks. “I mean. Some people like it. Peeing.”

The surprise David feels at this confession is almost immediately overtaken by a swell of pride for Patrick being able to get the words out of his mouth. Talking about sex and kink has historically been difficult for him, and even if the topic is . . . unexpected, it’s still nice when Patrick does this. 

“Some people like everything,” David says, slowly, with a hot, too-vulnerable feeling coalescing in his chest. “Do _you_ like it?”

“I―so, this morning, you weren’t the only one who ended up with a little . . . and it made me think. It’s something we haven’t tried.”

Blinking, David gapes for a moment. “You―wait, you had my urine on you and you didn’t say anything?”

“I changed my pajama pants. You didn’t notice?”

David rolls his eyes, then realizes it won’t work in the dark with Patrick not looking at him, and huffs out a loud breath instead. “Please.” All of Patrick’s pajama pants are identical. They come in packs of _three_.

Patrick giggles against his chest, but it sounds nervous more than happy, and something inside David softens at the sound, at the sensation against his body. Patrick’s trying to tell him something, and after this day, after everything Patrick’s done to be gentle and non-judgmental and helpful, David wants to give the same thing back to him.

“Well. If you’re―interested, then that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

A long moment passes. 

“Yeah?” Patrick asks.

“Yeah,” David replies, firmly. He purses his lips and thinks about how to start. “What, um. What do you like about it?”

The next moment is longer, but more comfortable, and David waits through it with the ease of practice. 

“I don’t know. It’s messy. It’s, you know. Taboo. It’s . . . something about control.”

_Ding ding,_ David thinks, a little self-satisfied, because a lot of Patrick’s internal kink landscape is shaped around control in one way or another: having it, letting go of it, getting to lose himself in some way. Piss and shit are, at that level, not that different from orgasm: a process of building pressure, then pleasure and release, and god knows Patrick’s had little enough release in his life. 

“I’ve done it before,” David confesses, though really it can’t be much of a confession, not to Patrick, not anymore. Still, he feels his face heat a little as he says the rest, and he’s glad Patrick can’t see it in the dark. “Mostly in a, um, humiliation context? Which I’m not super into actually? But if you wanted to do it, like, _not_ . . . in that way . . . we could talk about it.”

Patrick’s hand soothes up and down David’s side, his belly. “I know you wouldn’t want humiliation, hon,” he says. “And I know how you feel about cleanliness. But we could try not to―you know.” Patrick clears his throat. “Get any on you.”

The logistics of that have David almost physically tilting his head to try to figure out how it would work. “I’m sorry?”

“I was thinking, you know, there are ways to do it so I’m the only one who gets . . . dirty.”

Mind spinning, unable to continue this conversation without seeing Patrick’s face, David sits up and turns on the bedside lamp. The room is illuminated.

“You want me to piss on you,” David says, feeling his face do a lot of things but unable to really stop it.

Patrick blinks up at him, whether from shyness or the sudden light David doesn’t know. “I mean―yes? Maybe? Isn’t that what we were talking about? This morning, when it happened, you were really embarrassed, but I really, uh. Didn’t mind. So much. It felt kind of intimate, I guess. All day I’ve been thinking about how intimate it is.”

The world turns, just slightly, inside out. 

“Did you not―were you not interested in that?” Patrick presses. “It’s okay, it was just a thought. We don’t have to.”

All of Patrick’s suggestions for things to do in bed end with those sentences, and David waves them away, because _of course_ they don’t, but―but wow.

To let Patrick piss on him would be firmly in the category of _would possibly do it for him but wouldn’t be into it_, which isn’t the end of the world, because David doesn’t mind doing things for Patrick that he doesn’t love himself. Patrick does things he doesn’t love for David, sometimes, like sucking his toes or tying him up, and it’s a kind of gift that David didn’t know people could give each other so willingly and openly, to put aside their own wants with kind acceptance. That kind of clear-eyed generosity always seems to make the act, paradoxically, more meaningful between them. Letting Patrick piss on him would be hot in the mind-way, where watching Patrick do something he really wants is always hot, because it’s Patrick, and also because Patrick losing control is something to see under any circumstances, but.

But Patrick asking David to piss on him is . . . different.

The idea of it touches David in the exact spot of embarrassment he felt this morning, the place inside him that holds the sinking mortification he felt in the moment he realized why the sheets were wet. It touches him there, and soothes that spot somehow, the realization that he could do it again, on purpose; that Patrick would want him to do it again, that Patrick would ask.

“No, that’s, uh. Interesting. Actually.” David says.

A slow smile flushes across Patrick’s face. “David Rose,” he breathes. “Have we hit upon a kink of yours that you haven’t actually done before?”

David glares at him. “There have been like, seven,” he points out, because actually, no one ever sucked his toes before and David hadn’t known that about himself. Patrick has a thing about _discovery_ that animated a lot of their early sexual phases, and in exploring David’s body so thoroughly he revealed more than one surprise for both of them. It has been a while, though.

“Eight, now,” Patrick says, with his little pursed-lips eye-twinkle of self-satisfaction. 

David blinks, and prods again at that space inside, the space that felt self-disgust this morning and is now filled with some weird kind of . . . curiosity. Or maybe . . . desire? Some inverse of his earlier shame, at least. He can’t quite pin it down. 

“Eight,” he agrees, which is about as much as he can articulate the feeling at the moment. He doesn’t say anything else, the idea spinning behind his eyes, his stomach nervous and his mind moving quickly in all directions.

After a minute, Patrick’s hand comes up to cup David’s jaw, startling him out of his thoughts. “Hey,” he says. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

David kisses him, grateful. It’s exactly what he needs.

“We can talk tomorrow,” he agrees.

*

The sheets are dry in the morning, which Patrick draws attention to by patting the space between them and grinning into a morning-breath kiss. “Looks like you made it through the night.”

“Disappointed?” David breathes.

Patrick laughs and kisses him again.

“After I put on that special sheet and everything. All my hopes dashed.” And there’s a light in his eyes that says he’s only a little bit joking. 

David marvels at the idea that Patrick has somehow made all of this okay, that he’s made it go from David’s worst nightmare, to an awkward but sweet joke between them, to something David is actually . . . anticipating. Thinking about. How Patrick does that, transmutes David’s fears into building blocks for them to play with together, David doesn’t know, but there’s never been a time when he hasn’t been able to do it. Patrick, in this way, is a relationship wizard.

They spend the day in their normal routine, restocking and meeting with vendors and ringing up customers, but David notices Patrick bringing him coffee in the morning, then tea in the afternoon, notices the little flush high on his cheeks when he does it. 

That tiny telltale flush makes a simple mid-afternoon beverage wildly, incredibly kinky, and more intense than most of the scenes David’s done. That flush means that Patrick knows exactly what he’s asking for and wants it anyway. Wants David to . . . do it again.

“You’re always saying that you need to stay hydrated to maintain skin elasticity,” Patrick says gravely, as if him endearingly remembering every word David ever says is less revealing of his interests than the fact that he wants to―that he wants David to―that he wants to try this new thing together.

It occurs to David that it’s been a long time since either of them really resisted revealing themselves to one another. This is just a new example.

“I am always saying that, yes,” David agrees, and he feels a hot rush of feeling inside himself as he takes a sip, keeping his eyes locked with Patrick’s. Just the thought, that Patrick is filling him up with liquid, making him ready, is hot in a distracting, disconcerting way that David doesn’t have much experience dealing with. It makes him feel upside down but also right, at the same time, off-balance but cared for. The liquid slides down his throat and it means that his body is doing what Patrick wants.

“Good boy,” Patrick says, lightly and easily, like he said it last night, and David shivers.

He drinks every drop.

Patrick notices. Patrick brings him another one.

*

Every time he pees, throughout the day, David thinks about it. Because of Patrick (and his cups of tea), he pees a lot, and because of Patrick (and his flushed cheeks), he thinks about the physical sensation, notices it, taking his dick in his hand and waiting for that sweet rushing moment when his body relaxes and gives in and lets go. He thinks about the image of Patrick beneath him, or against him, taking it, accepting it. Letting David give that to him, unafraid.

*

“I want to try it. What you talked about. The watersports thing,” David says, after dinner. Patrick made them soup; David ate two bowls.

“Oh, is that what it’s called?” Patrick asks, casually, over his shoulder, while he takes the dishes to the sink.

“I am absolutely sure you did three hours of internet research at work today, so please don’t pretend you don’t know what it’s called,” David says, nettled.

“I would never abuse work time in such a way.” 

“Oh, then it must’ve been someone else sucking my dick in the stockroom all those times back when you lived at Ray’s.”

This draws a laugh out of Patrick, a shake to his shoulders and a bend to his head that say David’s rendered him helpless, just for a moment. 

David thinks again about control, about having it, about giving it up: how Patrick’s not the only one whose internal sexual landscape is built around the concept. But much as David loves seeing Patrick lose control, the truth of their relationship is that the reverse has only occasionally been true. David loves sex with Patrick, loves his voracious desire to try new things and his stuttering attempts to talk about them, loves his laughing irreverence and his focused intensity when those qualities are brought to bear on their bodies, but rarely has he felt this way, uncomfortable, vulnerable, uncertain about how he’s going to respond.

Patrick’s felt this way a million times in bed with him, David’s sure. From that first night at Stevie’s. And he’s never met the feeling with anything but that gosh-darned can-do attitude.

“I did do research,” Patrick admits, when his laugh subsides. He comes back over to David at the table and offers his hand, pulling David up into a loose embrace. “Watersports is such a cute name. Like we’re going inner tubing.”

David furrows his brow, trying to make a double entendre out of _inner tubing_, but his brain keeps going to sounding and they haven’t talked about that one yet. It’s a precise, slow, sober kind of kink, sounding; David wonders if it would appeal to Patrick.

“You’re thinking about dirty inner tubing, aren’t you.” 

David has to kiss Patrick’s know-it-all smile. “Yes.”

“So, is this a, like, tonight thing? Or a needs-more-time thing? Where are you at?”

It’s nice that Patrick can spend the whole day feeding him tea and soup and then give him options like this. In a way, it makes David proud; he knows he’s the one who taught Patrick about having choices in sex, about deviating from the scripts he had in his head.

“Well.” David flashes a smile, and sees how it lights Patrick’s eyes right up. He’s oddly breathless while he says the next part: “I feel really . . . full. Right now. Like someone’s been filling me up all day and now it’s just ready to burst out of me.”

“Sounds like someone really wanted to make you let go,” Patrick responds, thick-voiced. “Maybe they, uh, deserve to get it all over them.”

“Maybe they do,” David agrees. 

Patrick swallows, and he looks away just for a moment before meeting David’s gaze head on. He raises his eyebrows and gives a little shrug. “I was thinking, the tub?”

“Hm, that’s very practical,” David agrees, holding back a grin. 

Patrick takes his hand and pulls him to the bathroom, smiling a little self-consciously, like he knows it’s kind of silly but doesn’t care. This is just for them, David thinks: no one else’s opinion matters, and Patrick wants to try it, and David . . . wants to try it.

He really wants to try it. He’s breathing fast already, anticipating, not knowing what’s going to happen. If he doesn’t like it, it won’t be a big deal; Patrick won’t mind. If he does like it . . . well. He’ll see.

David turns on just the night-light in the bathroom, so that it’s shadowy and secret. He’s licking his lips nervously when Patrick kisses him, draws him in and down until David relaxes against him. 

“Still feeling full?” Patrick asks, against his mouth. 

“Yeah,” David says. Normally in this situation he’d pee before they get started, because he really is feeling an uncomfortable level of pressure, like he might lose it soon, intentionally or not. It’s the kind of full-to-bursting feeling that makes you run the last ten feet to the bathroom. 

The kind of feeling that means you dream of standing in front of a urinal and wake up in bed, soaked.

Patrick’s hand slides down to press low on David’s belly, increasing the pressure slightly. “Like you’re gonna burst,” he says, echoing David’s words back to him.

David swallows, shifts his hips; he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. “Yeah.”

“Get me ready,” Patrick murmurs. He’s said it before, with a lot of different meanings, and it always gets David hot. In this context, it doesn’t mean fingering him or sliding a condom down his cock; instead, David runs his hands up under the hem of Patrick’s t-shirt, against his skin, while Patrick lifts his arms. David tosses it into the hamper and starts on his pants, then his underwear and socks. He kisses here and there, as he goes, just little reminders for Patrick’s body: _I love you, I love you, I love you._

When he’s naked, Patrick lifts his foot and climbs into the tub. He’s not hard, but his dick looks interested, a little full, a little heavy. 

“Planning on joining me?” Patrick asks the question archly, but that high flush is back on his cheeks, that little streak of embarrassment that betrays his interest. 

David strips down too, and steps in with him. 

They’ve showered together, in this tub, had sex here slipping against the wet porcelain, but this feels different, the air cold on David’s skin without the hot water to balance it. 

“What do you want?” he asks, running his hands up Patrick’s thighs and sides for comfort, for warmth. 

Patrick leans in, wrapping his arms around David’s waist, bringing their bodies together. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

David closes his eyes, rests his forehead on Patrick’s shoulder. He takes a breath and concentrates on the sensations within his body, the urgent pressure that’s getting more insistent by the second. He stops holding back, and lets the words pour out of his mouth. “I need it,” he admits. “I need it _really_ badly, Patrick. It’s all I can think about.”

Wrapping a warm, solid hand around the back of David’s neck, Patrick kisses his head. “I know you do,” he replies. His cock is getting hard against David’s thigh. David feels a little stirring himself, that uncomfortable sensation of being turned on and needing to piss at the same time, and he groans. Patrick’s fingers clench against his waist.

“I’m, uh, I’m a little concerned I’m gonna be too hard to be able to pee.”

Patrick runs a confident hand down David’s chest. “Then get it under control, baby,” he says.

David’s head snaps up and he looks Patrick in the eyes.

“You’re in control,” Patrick says, meeting his gaze. “You’re in control of this. And you’re gonna, gonna choose to get me all dirty, aren’t you?” His eyes are earnest and a little mischievous and his lips part as he breathes and he wants David to do this to him. With him. _On_ him.

“Yeah, I am,” he says. God, he wants it; he’s so full with the need for it. “I’ll get you dirty. You want it?”

“Just a little,” Patrick says, hand creeping down to wrap around his cock, stroking himself, making himself harder. “Just a little at a time, David. Do it. Get it on me.”

David takes his own cock in hand and breathes deep, trying not to get hard, concentrating instead on the clamouring need to pee. And then he hears himself groaning as he starts to let go, loud in the little room. A stream of his piss slides down in a rippling cascade over Patrick’s right thigh. It drips from Patrick’s skin and patters against the bottom of the tub.

It’s everything David hoped, yesterday morning, that he’d never have to think about again, and now he can’t stop watching as he pours himself over Patrick’s body. He’s come on Patrick, plenty of times, but this is so much more, so much more of himself. It feels like being turned inside out.

“Good, good, good, yes, oh, stop,” Patrick says, fisting his cock, head bowed as he watches the space between them. David bites his lip and focuses to stop himself mid-stream. He’s taken the edge off but it’s still hard to do; he still really needs to go. He needs more.

“What’s it feel like. Patrick,” he says, the words torn from this throat. He wants to know the answer so badly, wants to know whether it could possibly feel like it does to David, like the release of pressure, like the relief from pain. 

Patrick looks back up and then surges forward with a whine, kissing him. “You’re so hot. David. You’re so hot all over me.”

David cups Patrick’s neck, not gentle at all, and returns the kiss, biting, pushing deep, taking him.

“You want more?” he asks, on gasps for breath at the edges of kisses. “You wanna take more?”

“David,” Patrick says, softly. “There’s no part of you I don’t want to touch.”

A burst of sensation blooms in David’s chest, like his ribs are spreading open, the way a flower does in response to the sun.

“Then lie down,” David says. Patrick does, sitting in the tub, one arm stretched languidly along the edge, the other moving slowly as Patrick works his cock. He’s hard from this, hard from David doing this to him.

“Get it all over me,” Patrick says. “Get it on my cock, David.”

David has to close his eyes for a second, fighting again the urge to get hard. He finds that he wants this, this other thing, much more than he wants an erection right now.

“Where did I get it? The other night,” he asks, suddenly needing to know. “Where did you feel it?”

Holding his gaze, Patrick takes his free hand off the side of the tub and brings it down to his left knee, drawing his fingertips in a slow caress up to his hip. “Here. I felt you here.”

Deliberately, David uses his foot to nudge Patrick’s thigh, and Patrick moves with him, rolling slightly to one side to bare that part of his body to David.

David takes a breath and lets that feeling of surrender shudder through him again, letting his piss splash down over Patrick’s hip, his hand, up to his waist and down to his thigh. It’s even more intense, this time, the wave of release that crashes through him: he feels it in his fingertips, his toes, his chest. Some of it does get on Patrick’s cock. Some of it gets on David’s legs. David doesn’t care. He wants to cover them both with it, with this feeling of rushing, spilling, pouring relief, with this joy.

He reins himself in again, clenching down to stop the stream, and it’s so hard to do, because his body wants it so badly, wants to finish all over Patrick’s skin. He wants to sob with the sheer, aching _need_, with the impossibility of holding back any further. But he stops, because he can stop, because he’s in control of this.

Patrick’s hand is moving faster on his cock, his hips shifting restlessly the way they do when he’s really turned on. 

“Don’t stop,” he gasps. “David. Please.”

“You want it all,” David says, waiting, making himself wait, trembling with the effort. “Patrick. You want it.”

Patrick nods up at him, mouth open, panting. He moves back so he’s facing David directly, looking directly into his eyes. “I want it, I want it, I want it, David, give it to me―”

David does, relaxing his control and closing his eyes with a groan, letting go completely this time, giving himself up to it. He opens his eyes again to watch himself as he covers Patrick from neck to knee, David’s piss dripping over every part of him, from his sun-freckled shoulders to his sparse chest hair to the hand that’s fisting his cock, his body arching under the hot, strong stream, shameless, without shame. He’s a vision.

“Jesus, it’s so hot, you’re so hot, all over me, fuck―” and then Patrick is coming, in hard fast ropes up over his own chest, mixing his come with David’s piss and he’s messy, so messy, and David wants nothing more than to make him _messier_.

The urge to pee finally gone, David feels empty, strangely light, as if he had been weighed down before. He’s never felt this precise sensation, this ease of freedom combined with the feeling of complete control. Patrick is wrecked and nasty and David did that to him, David made him that way, because he wanted it. In that moment, David’s never loved him more, never been more sure of what they are together.

He changes his grip on his cock and kneels down in the tub, between Patrick’s legs. Patrick looks surprised, but moves to make room for him, scooting backwards and hooking one ankle over the edge so David can fit between his thighs. He opens his arms, accepting David’s body rutting against his own, David’s dick sliding through the mess of come and urine on Patrick’s belly. They slip a little, and David has to catch himself with his arms, hold himself up; Patrick breathes a little laugh against David’s neck and David smiles too, the two of them sharing a fond, amused glance. But then they’ve found a position, and David gasps at the sudden, welcome sensation of his cock trapped between their bellies.

“That’s it, do it, you want it, yes,” Patrick is murmuring into his ear, kissing his face, squeezing his ass and pinching his nipple with wet, dripping hands. David’s cock is hard in no time at all, and he wants to come on Patrick like he pissed on him, to mix it all together and share it between them like secrets. 

“Fuck, Patrick, you took it so good,” David says, the friction and the angle all wrong and so hot anyway, getting him there so quickly. “I’m all over you.”

“I loved it,” Patrick says, biting his earlobe, his clever hands still working David’s body as David thrusts into their shared mess. “I loved that you got me all dirty. You did so good. It was so good for me. I wanted it on me.”

David cries out, fucks harder. “You’re getting me―dirty now,” he pants. 

“I like you dirty,” Patrick breathes. “Fuck, David, fuck me, fuck me, c’mon.”

He does it, thrusts against Patrick’s skin and comes on his belly, closing his eyes tight and riding the long, exquisite moment of release. Another kind of pressure eases inside him, and his body relaxes again, down against Patrick’s chest, squelching them together in a pool of shared bodily fluids.

He needed that, he thinks, as he swims back to himself. He didn’t even know how badly he needed that. 

Patrick showed him.

He opens his eyes and finds Patrick already looking up at him, soft and tender, his little Patrick-smirk on his face. Patrick’s fingertips brush against his temple, and David turns his face to kiss them.

“That was―I―” David shudders through a breath. He feels good, powerful, but in a way he can’t quite articulate. He licks his lips, closes his eyes, shakes his head.

“That was amazing,” Patrick says. “You really let go.”

David nods against his shoulder. God, they stink, piss and sweat and come and dissipating adrenaline, and David should want to wash it all away, just like he did yesterday, should want seven showers, but instead all he wants is to keep smelling it, keep feeling that disgusting wetness between them. He wants to roll around in it.

“Think that’s what you asked me for,” he quips, a little late on the cue.

Patrick laughs anyway. “You know what I mean.”

David runs his hands down Patrick’s shoulders, down his chest and belly, feeling the stickiness on his fingertips, his palms. He thinks back to the day before, when he obsessively washed his thighs and groin of that same stickiness, over and over again; now, on Patrick’s skin, it feels different, like something unshakably real, like something that can’t be washed away. This thing between them, it’s real, and messy, and _human_, and so honest it makes David want to cry, or tremble, or scream for joy.

“I know what you mean,” David says, quietly.

They manage to get up and get the water on, because metaphors aside they really do need to clean up, and under the cascade of water and against the sluicing trails of soap David kisses Patrick, deep and firm, like he could climb right into his mouth and wrap himself around his teeth, replace his mouthguard.

He feels warm, and liquid, like he could sink into every nook and crevice of Patrick’s body.

The hot water runs out eventually, and they have to get out and dry off. 

“How was it? For you,” Patrick asks, when they haven’t spoken in a while.

Patrick asks this a lot, and David even tells the truth when he does, these days, but the question still makes David huff out a breath and sit down on the toilet lid, fluffy white robe wrapped around him to keep him warm.

There was a time when he wouldn’t have trusted himself to open his mouth, to spill this truth and get his feelings all over Patrick. But now he thinks: maybe Patrick wants that.

_There’s no part of you I don’t want to touch,_ Patrick said.

“I loved it,” David says, to begin, words trickling out. “I loved it, and I love you.”

Patrick pauses in wrapping his own robe around himself. It’s dark blue and soft as a cloud, an anniversary gift from David. Patrick sometimes doesn’t take care of himself enough. David likes giving him soft things.

“I love you too,” he says. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming on?” 

David lets go of the rest of it. “But I don’t . . . it’s hard for me, you know. Sometimes. To . . . trust like this. And I want you to know that this wasn’t just, wasn’t just a kink to me. It meant a lot to me.” Pursing his lips, David taps his hand over his heart, twice, to finish the sentence.

Crouching down in front of him, Patrick takes his hands. “I know, baby. I saw that. I loved that. You were so good, so beautiful, taking what you needed.” He kisses David’s knuckles. David really needs to moisturize before his pores close up again. “I was getting off on you so hard, you know that, right? I was getting off on you, I don’t know. Owning that. Letting me see that.”

David nods, tears filling his eyes. He doesn’t try to hold them back, and they spill down his face, making his skin wet again.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you.”

Patrick kisses him, for a long time, and kisses the wetness right off his cheeks.

As they walk back out into the main room, David grins over at him. “But it’s also hot just because you’re into being filthy, right?”

Laughing, Patrick looks up at him sidelong. “Yeah. I guess. You know I kind of have that thing about―”

“Control,” David finishes, nodding. 

“Control,” Patrick agrees. He shrugs. “You too.”

“Yeah,” David says. 

They get into pajamas and curl up in bed, Patrick grabbing his book off the nightstand. It’s some cozy mystery/romance thing that David’s mom lent him, something about murder and intrigue at a ski lodge in Banff; Patrick’s been devouring it. David wants to make fun of that, somehow, but really it’s just nice that Patrick and his mom will have something to talk about together at the next family barbecue.

David could get a book himself―it’s how they often spend their evenings―but he finished that Barbara Gowdy collection yesterday and the task of choosing something new to read, of falling into a new world, seems daunting. Instead, he lets himself drift, head against Patrick’s shoulder while he flips the pages slowly.

“You asleep?” Patrick asks, some time later, softly enough that he wouldn’t have woken David if David weren’t just a little bit conscious.

“No,” David says, but he doesn’t move, or open his eyes. He’s not sure when he shut them.

“You awake?” Patrick asks next, just as softly but with a laugh in his voice.

“No,” David says, grinning against Patrick’s shoulder.

“That’s what I thought. C’mere.”

He puts his book up on the nightstand and cuddles down into the bed, wrapping his arms around David. 

“I can’t imagine doing that with anyone else,” he says. “Anyone else in the entire world, David.”

“You better not,” David smiles. “You’re engaged. You made a promise that I’m the only one who gets to pee on you. For life.”

Patrick’s laugh is just a breath, ruffling David’s hair. “I mean it.”

“Yeah. I mean it too,” David says, snuggling in, almost asleep now. He can feel his mind beginning to let go. If he’s not careful, he’ll start doing that thing Patrick does, describing his dreams in the last moment between consciousness and sleep. It would be okay, he thinks, if he did that. Patrick can look inside his head, if he wants. “No one else could ever have seen what you saw.”

Does that make sense? His brain is moving slowly, words fluttering away from him.

“I saw it,” Patrick says, David’s last memory before the darkness washes over him.

_And you’re still here,_ David thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic! If you are interested in leaving a comment and your goal is to make me feel good, please be advised that the following kinds of comments will make me feel bad:
> 
> "This was gross but" "this was so disgusting but" "normally I would want to gag at this very idea but" "surprisingly hot??????" "beautiful and fucked-up" "I don't like this kink but" "this kink is super not for me but" "I would usually never read this but" and so on. It's cool if you were surprised that you liked this, but please don't use my comments as a space to work out that feeling. Thanks!


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